


Rise Up

by Kr_ys



Category: Alexander Hamilton - Ron Chernow, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Ace!Danielle, Angst, Bi!Alex, F/M, Feels, Fluff, Gay!Francis, Gay!Lafayette, Gay!Laurens, Hamilton - Freeform, Jamilton - Freeform, Laurette - Freeform, M/M, Multi, Platonic Lams, Rise, Straight!Aaron, Theatre, Theatre AU, Tissues or popcorn you know the drill, ace!James, bi!angelica, bi!thomas, hamlaf, minor lams, trans!James
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-06
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2019-04-19 02:18:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,161
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14226966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kr_ys/pseuds/Kr_ys
Summary: George Washington is just a math and English teacher, nothing more.Until he decides to change his academic focus, wanting to do more with his life.Wanting to teach kids who have a passion for learning, specifically for theatre.He seeks to improve the freshmen in the theatre program, spiritually and mentally.Meanwhile, the high schoolers in the theatre class are struggling with their own problems.George Washington may end up accidentally making them worse.(BASED OFF OF THE TV SHOW "RISE")





	1. Chapter 1

    George sighed softly as he urged his students to pay attention, only identifying about seven or eight of the twenty-nine actually listening attentively to his lecture and taking down notes of what he was saying. He knew he would be getting an earful of parent complaints and outraged cries when the same students goofing off and zoning out claimed they had done so well in class, and deserved an A.

    The bell rang, putting George out of his misery for the day. The students hurriedly packed up, rushing for the door, the only student turning to say goodbye to him being his favorite, Alexander Hamilton, who gave a sincere smile and a wave before heading out the door.

    George watched with a frown as his other students rudely hustled past the shorter boy, nearly knocking him off his feet. Once the classroom was empty and the noise in the halls had died down, George started on grading test papers, his thoughts filled with that of defeat and hopelessness.

    Then he heard it. The beautiful singing and harmonies. Choir? No, this school didn't have enough money to cater to an entire class dedicated to singers. Must be the after-school theatre program, he thought to himself, writing on a paper with red sharpie, X'ing out nearly the entire page with a deep exhale of disappointment, the top reading "Thomas Jefferson".

    He knew the tall, Virginian boy way better than this. Thomas was an extremely intelligent individual, possibly the only in the class able to match Alexander's quick wit, and that meant a lot. It was a shame to see him failing so badly when just a little more effort would go such a long way.

    George guessed it was because Thomas' parents often pressured him to focus on football. They - no, his father - didn't care if his son was an academic genius, he preferred an athlete over a mathlete. George scoffed at the thought of Thomas' sports-obsessed father, before he was torn out of his thoughts by the pretty melodies repeating themselves.

    George set down the papers, deciding he'd take a break, and quickly slipped out of the class, heading toward the direction of the noise - no, sound. He opened the double doors to the auditorium and there was Ms. Quincy's theatre class performing amazingly.

    The math/English teacher's eyes drifted over to the familiar-sounding boy, and quickly recognized John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton's closest friend. George watched John twirl majestically around the stage, a shy smile lighting up his face as his hands connected with the girl beside him, Angelica Schuyler.

    George felt the undeniable urge to move closer and get a better view of the breathtaking scene unfolding before him. It was the same old play they'd performed in the auditorium for five or six years, but this time, it was different.

    John Laurens made it different. The way he was unafraid to show off his dancing skills, his magnificent voice, and his jaw-dropping acting skills like other freshman boys were, always jumpy and nervous about what their peers thought of them, quick to ignore and deny their talents out of fear of being a target for bullying. It quite literally broke George's heart.

    The scene had ended, and now the theatre kids had gathered, gazing curiously at the academics teacher standing up and clapping for all of them, mostly John Laurens. Ms. Quincy spun around, raising her brows at the sight of him.

    "Mr. Washington, what brings you here?" she questioned with a curt dip of her head in greeting, painfully polite towards him, as if they hadn't worked at the same school for five years. George knew Ms. Quincy had been there for about fifteen years longer than him, and she was quite confident and authoritative about it.

    "Oh, I heard a beautiful sound and I just had to hear more," he said, still holding back the urge to clap endlessly for the group of talented freshmen. "Thank you," they chorused together in different varations, bowing, dipping their heads, Ms. Quincy watching with silent approval before motioning for them to go onto the next scene.

    Surprise flashed in George's eyes as his star student, Alexander Hamilton, came flying out onto stage, a sword clasped in his hands, dressed in old silver knight armor and moving so powerfully despite his petite stature and miniscule height.

   The toy sword poked violently in John's direction, and the freckled boy swiftly hopped out of its reach, dancing from side to side before darting behind his friend, both extremely skilled at holding back laughter as any usual pair of friends might not able to do in this case.

    The intensity in both boys' eyes awed George. He settled his chin on his knuckles, elbows resting on his legs, absolute wonder and  amazement concentrated in his deep brown gaze, intently viewing the action. Alexander's hues met his, and he flashed a pearly-white grin before moving quickly and slashing John's shoulder, the other dodging but still getting cut slightly, crumpling to the floor like a piece of unwanted paper.

    He dramatically held his shoulder, whilst attempting to back away, dragging himself pathetically across the floor, conveying mock terror and fear. Alexander's character seemed to buy it as he moved ever closer, a wicked grin portrayed across his usually-kind features, eyes dead-set on John's crippled figure, sliding desperately against the stage.

    John's hand whipped out swiftly, punching Alexander in the nose, and Alexander cried out loudly, grasping his nose, genuine shock evident in the frantic expression overtaking his poker face. John got back to his feet, clutching his knuckle in pain, looking equally blindsided as his friend.

    Blood dripped fast down Alexander's fists, clamped tightly over his nose. He tilted his head back, pinching his nose tightly shut with his fore fingers, not a word escaping his mouth. "Take five! Lafayette, will you get a nurse for these two dummies?" Ms. Quincy's voice was scolding but fond as the French boy she had given an order to hurriedly dipped his head and raced out with a final look of concern at the two boys clutching their injuries on the stage.

    John winced, his knuckle seeming to hurt more. George got to his feet, walking over to press his hands against the stage. "You boys okay?" he asked worriedly, eyebrows furrowing downward, lips curved into a perplexed frown, eyes widened, looking more fatherly than ever.

    He relaxed when John nodded, but then his gaze drifted over to Alex, a few coughs racking through his scrawny, underfed body before finally settling. "Could the nurse be any slower?" Alexander huffed lightly. George felt reassured by Alexander's sharp tongue, and calmed down.

    He whirled around as the nurse, Mr. Conway, tossed an ice pack callously to John, who caught it with his uninjured hand, muttering a "thanks" and pressing it to his wounded left knuckle, whimpering quietly at the sudden burning-cold sensation on his sensitive freckled skin.

   "Crap, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry! You okay, 'Lex?" John frowned. "Yeah, I'm fine," Alexander mumbled in a muffled voice as Mr. Conway trotted over and passed him a few paper towels, no gratitude received from the shorter boy who hastily grabbed at the rough tissues and held them around his bloody nose.

    "Want me to call your parents, kid?" Mr. Conway asked him with a small raise of his dark brows. "No, no, no, I'm fine! You don't need to call anyone, I'll be okay. My part's done anyway, I'll just walk home early," Alexander said with a quick, forced smile, the panic evident in his frantic tone. George swiftly realized the boy was hiding something, but he wouldn't confront him in front of everyone here. He knew there was no way that would work, but he had to come up with some plan to figure out why Alex was so touchy whenever anyone mentioned his parents. He was also hyper-sensitive about being independent, refusing everyone and anyone's help and never showing any gratitude when he got it.

    "See you tomorrow, Mr. Hamilton. Be careful with that nose," Ms. Quincy called after him as he began hurrying out through the double doors. John watched with a hint of regret and guilt in his eyes. "Mr. Laurens, you are dismissed," Ms. Quincy stated in a firm, stern tone and John nodded quickly, glancing at George before heading out after his close friend.

    George headed back to his class. He knew Alexander Hamilton had a secret. He just didn't know what it was. Yet.


	2. love is not a choice.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two reckless teenage boys get into a fight.  
> john is thankfully there to help afterwards.  
> [blood/bruising tw, not too descriptive]

   John hastened after his friend, finally catching up to him as Alex slowed to a trot, shooting his friend an inquisitive glance, still grasping the paper towel tightly around his nostrils. "Mind if I join you?" John asked, - more like, panted - visibly out of breath.

   Alexander nodded wordlessly and the two settled on a relaxed pace, both unsure of what to say. "I'm sorry about your nose," John said again, eyes raising worriedly up at his friend. Alexander chuckled. "Really, Jackie, it's fine," he replied. "Sorry about your knuckle."

   John was visibly comforted by hearing the familiar pet name Alexander had called him by. It relaxed his anxiety that Alexander might be angry or worse, disappointed with him. He smiled coyly, reminded of the ice pack pressed coolly to the back of his hand. "Oh, right. Not like I needed it anyways."

   "You pack a good punch, dude," Alexander countered with a smirk of approval. "I'm flattered, but it's not like I asked for it. I don't want to be the tough guy everyone's afraid of getting beat up by, no thanks."

   "Well, if you're the tough guy, no one messes with you or the people in your social circle, so don't forget its benefits," Alexander retorted with a perfectly-timed wink at "benefits".

   John blushed lightly, but was mostly unfazed by his friend's usual playful banter. "It does sound nice being able to protect you, Laf, and Herc." Even if Hercules and Lafayette were both powerful giants perfectly capable of defending themselves, he thought silently.

   "Don't forget Aaron. You know how he hates being left out, don't exclude him from the room where it happens," Alexander said, voice breaking halfway through with hearty laughter. John couldn't help but crack a grin and release a few snorts of amusement. "Aaron is a pain. I'd love to forget him," John responded, a sincere edge to his voice.

   The two continued on that way, making harmless jokes and gently teasing one another, until they made it to Alexander's house. "Bye, 'Lex." "Bye, Jackie."

******  
   It wasn't Thomas' fault he had been distracted by a cute boy - rather, two cute boys - walking closely together down the street. He swiftly snapped out of it, once again sharply reminding himself he had no choice but to hide key parts of his personal identity from his teammates. He was fully aware he'd be scorned and bullied for being interested in boys as well as girls, and his parents would not be happy either.

  "Thomas, get your head in the game! What do you keep zoning out at?" "Probably that cute blonde bombshell walking down the pavement, huh, Tommy?"

   "What? Um, yeah, her. She's attractive. Sorry, I don't see girls like her around here that often," Thomas anxiously lied without a second thought. The curly-haired girl definitely wasn't his type. He wasn't into blonde girls, nor girls wearing as much jewelry or make-up.

   "Ouch, low blow for the cheerleaders." "And for his girlfriend, Martha," chimed in Hercules with a teasing smile aimed in Thomas' direction. Thomas knew the taller boy meant no harm, but his mockery still annoyed him to no end, as it made it seem to the other boys that it was fine to make fun of Thomas and his relationship. It was not. And he was going to show him that.

   Fuming, Thomas rolled his eyes. "She's not my girlfriend, idiot, but at least I have a love interest, Hercules. You've been pining after my best friend, Gilbert, for - how long? Oh, that's right, three years. How long did it take me to score Martha Wayles' phone number? Five-and-a-half weeks." Thomas knew he had hit a nerve when Hercules' gaze lit up with anger, the rest of the football team either laughing loudly or trying to conceal their ridiculing chuckles. 

   Fueled with rage and fury, Hercules lashed out at Thomas violently, giving him an aggressive shove accompanied by a low growl. Thomas nearly stumbled off his feet in pure shock, regaining his balance with quivering arms, golden-brown eyes wide.

   "What the hell, Thomas? Screw you!" Hercules snarled, bushy eyebrows furrowed in furiosity as he landed a hard blow on Thomas' face, busting his lip. Thomas fell to the ground, wincing at the pain in his plush bottom lip and pressing a curious thumb to it, which came back bloody.

   The scattered football players stared in utter surprise and confusion between the two, too entertained to interrupt the fight or try to mediate it. No one had a clue where their coach was. Not like he would care if Thomas got beat up.

   Thomas got back onto his feet, slightly shaky in the knees. "Thomas Jefferson doesn't go down without a fight, you revolting bear!" he sneered before leaping at Hercules and tackling him - or trying to - as Hercules easily swayed back against him. Thomas' leaner figure bounced off of him and he landed in a crouching position, hurting his joints but still being better than him full-on being thrown to the grass.

   He shifted out of the pose and widened his stance, fists lifting for a fight. Hercules did the same, eyes narrowing in frustration. Thomas remained poised to pounce for a good thirty seconds before he kicked up high, his shoes practically being fed to Hercules as the dirty soles entered his mouth, hitting his teeth painfully. "Lafayette would never love a piece of trash like you," Thomas hissed coldly. 

   Blood gushed from Hercules' closed lips and Thomas' eyebrows furrowed, a severe lack of regret evident in his smug grin, dancing along his busted lip, which he carried as if he were a soldier with a battle wound. He'd expected to catch Hercules off guard.

   But he hadn't expected Hercules to retaliate so viciously or so speedily. Without hesitation, Hercules grasped the neck of Thomas' specially-made magenta quarterback jacket and quite literally knocked his lights out, giving him a right black eye.

   Thomas cried out loudly. Hercules let go and the shorter of the two dropped limply to the ground, grasping his injuries. All he heard was silence for a good three minutes before a distantly familiar voice started shouting frantically. "Is he okay? What happened? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh." Another minute of silence. The feeling of a soft thumb against his throat, careful not to cut off his air flow. "Get the coach, you idiots! I'm sorry I called you that, I..." His vision went black and the noise around him suddenly faded away.

********  
   John hadn't expected to catch himself spying on the football players practicing for their next game. He hadn't expected to witness a vicious fight between his close friend, Hercules, and Lafayette's childhood friend, Thomas. John hadn't expected to see the ruthless quarterback just... pass out, knees buckling beneath him, blood dripping from his lip, a severe bruise covering his eye.

   He surprised himself when he steadily climbed the metal gray fence, cutting his hand slightly in the process and causing his knuckle to hurt even more, but he couldn't help it. Thomas' fellow football players just stood around like complete idiots, like deer in headlights. He had to do something.

   "John? What are you-" Hercules' surprised voice was cut off as John shot him an icy glare. "Leave. Herc, I'm being serious right now, leave before the coach gets here." John gave him the most serious look he'd ever given one of his friends, and immediately Hercules understood, turning and booking it for the fence, scaling it with some difficulty but eventually whirling down the street and out of sight. John breathed softly in relief. "Is he okay? What happened? Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, oh my gosh." 

   He'd never seen Hercules whale a guy so bad. He didn't think the gentle giant had it in him. John silently pondered what Thomas had done to get Hercules riled up enough to actually leave such bad bruises and cuts on his face. John had never seen a pretty boy's face riddled with scars like this before - wait, pretty boy? John shuddered slightly, forcing the thought out of his head - or trying to, as attempting to get rid of it made him only think about it more.

   He gently brushed a thumb against Thomas' neck, feeling a faint heartbeat and exhaling deeply in relief and joy. John slipped his hand deep into his long sleeve shirt, thankful he had picked it out, and made a fist, his good knuckle hidden entirely in the soft fabric. The back of his hand upturned, and he pressed it firmly but - hopefully, -  painlessly to Thomas' lip to stop the bleeding or at the least, lighten it. He then turned his head, anger rushing like adrenaline through him as he glared at the boys huddled around him like some stupid circle of dumbfounded penguins.

   "Get the coach, you idiots! I'm sorry I called you that. I-I didn't mean it, I'd just, uh, prefer if the football team didn't lose their star player. I'm sure you all would like it that way too, right?" John personally didn't know if he was referencing Hercules or Thomas when he spoke about their "star player", the football players looking equally puzzled and perplexed as they nodded in awkward agreement.

   Finally, John Jay gave a dazed nod of acknowledgement at John's instructions and spun around, racing for the boys' locker room, or so John assumed. He gazed after the shortest of the football team, watching his boyish figure disappear into the distance, and huffed quietly, averting his eyes, returning them watchfully back to Thomas' peacefully resting face, a protective hand gently gripping the unconscious quarterback's arm.


	3. sorry 'bout your parents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> minor abuse, alcohol tw (if you'd like to skip it, scroll down to "end of tw"   
> ****  
> alex's typical home life is revealed.  
> thomas meets up with a concerned james.  
> washington begins to suspect something's up with alex.

***** START OF TW *****

   Alexander blinked softly as he entered the house, closing the door behind him, thoughts of John running through his head. His nose had gone numb by now and he released the cold compress from it, placing it in the freezer for later. The scrawny boy was careful to not step on the creaky areas of the floor, as not to wake his mother. Well, too late.

   He heard her loud coughing and the smell of alcohol flooded his nose, which he wrinkled in disgust. Alex looked up as his mother stumbled drunkenly down the steps, raising a mostly-empty beer bottle and causing him to immediately flinch, an expression of fear crossing his injured face.

   "Wha' 'apened to your nose?" Alex could barely understand her incoherent mumbling, but quickly straightened up to answer her question. "Oh, um, nothing, it's just, I ran into a wall and-"

   "You're lying to me," the woman snarled suddenly, and Alexander shook lightly as she stepped nearer, closing the gap between them. Her hot breath stank as it flew into his face. He struggled not to breathe in the rank, musty air. She then signaled blearily towards the telephone, startling Alex yet again. He forced himself to not be so jumpy, keeping his facial features stony cold and steeling his frightened brown gaze.

   "I got a call from 'yer school. A kid was found beat up. Was that you?" She fixed him with an icy glare. "What? N-no! It wasn't me, I-this was an accident, um, check my knuckles, wouldn't they be-"

   "You gettin' smart with me?" she hissed and rewarded Alexander's frantic rambling with a fist to his head, grasping his scalp tightly. He cried out and tried to pull away, watching as she carelessly threw her finished beer bottle to the ground, the green, transparent pieces shattering across the old wooden floor.

   She used both hands to drag him up the stairs, and he huffed quietly, holding back tears yet yelling indignantly for her to let him go. He couldn't raise a hand against his mother, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Alex knew she meant no harm; she couldn't control herself in such a horrible mental state, and easily-accessible alcohol was no help either. 

   He pondered this blankly, no more screams escaping from his lips as she threw him into his bedroom and slammed the door behind him, the sound of a lock making his heart pound. A sudden wave of hunger overtook him and his lower back swelled up with pain as he realized he had landed on his backpack, on his large, rock-hard binder. He winced and got up, pulling off his book bag and tossing it off to the side.

   Alexander knew he was stupid to have finished the entire sandwich earlier. Now he would have no dinner. It was all his fault. He cried softly before clambering into bed and tugging the sheets over himself, shivering lightly as he remembered accidentally leaving his woolly blanket out lying on the couch. Now he only had thin, tedious sheets. He sighed and tried to ignore the moisture flowing down his cheeks, his back, nose, and scalp aching as well as his heart.

 ******* END OF TW *******  
   

   Thomas headed back to school the next day after lying to his parents and telling them he'd blacked out, having no idea who beat him up. The rest of the football team corroborated his story, giving false testimony that Thomas had disappeared for a while and they found him sprawled across the field when they went searching for him.

   Thomas gulped lightly as he approached the school gates, black eye not stinging as much now. His busted lip had been treated well by his mother, who happened to be a doctor. She'd reapplied his ointment that morning. He silently thought with a smile how lucky he was to have such a loving mother. Not that he didn't care about his father, too. But his father sure did have a temper. Thomas probably inherited it from him.

   Thomas groaned, not wanting to think of his father, as he saw his best friend, James, slinking into the auditorium. Thomas followed, blinking quietly and whispering out his friend's name. James spun around in shock before relaxing once he recognized his close confidant.

   "Thomas, I heard what happened, are you okay? Who did this?" He walked up to Thomas, instinctively pressing a gentle thumb to Thomas' lip, then his eye, but not before asking Thomas' permission. The new quarterback had coyly nodded and ducked his head in embarrassment. "Don't tell anyone, but... it was Hercules."

   James' eyes widened immediately, replaced with a look of cold anger and a thirst for revenge. "I'm going to kill him. On a completely unrelated note, I'll be right back." He turned to leave, and Thomas quickly blocked his way. "James." He glared sternly at him. James sighed and gave up on trying to escape the shadowy, vacant room.

   "I wasn't being serious. There's no way I, a 5"3 theatre geek, could even be brave enough to challenge Hercules Mulligan to a fight. I don't have a death wish, Thomas. Do you?" he countered dryly.

   Thomas winced at James' words and the shorter boy swiftly let a look of regret overtake his sarcastic expression. "Hey, I didn't mean-"

   "Let's go to class, the bell's about to ring," Thomas sharply cut him off, casting him a hard look of warning, and James nodded numbly, following the taller of the two out and closing the double doors noisily behind them. They slipped out into the hallway where the bell rang and students began rushing and hurrying to their classes, others nonchalantly skipping or even sitting, too lazy to head to class right away.

   Thomas gently grasped James' hand, offering the smaller a glance of encouragement, and James took his hand, returning the goofy grin dancing on Thomas' lips. The two headed to Math class, and settled into their seats. Despite being across the room from James, Thomas couldn't feel closer to him.

*****  
   "Pop quiz!" Washington called out cheerfully. He cast a vague, sideways glance at Alex to see if he was perking up excitedly like he usually did. To Washington's dismay, he wasn't. The small boy looked rather disheveled, his hair a mess, his nose still sporting a dark yet visibly healing bruise, and his dark eyes missing the usual fire that burned endlessly in their chocolate brown depths.

   Washington's brows furrowed and he soon possessed a tight-lipped frown, ignoring the groans and cries of disbelief and defeat around him at the mention of the quiz. He passed the papers out to them, sliding one more carefully onto Alex's desk. He didn't meet his professor's gaze as he began writing his name on the test, his hand seeming to tense up and ache quicker than before, Washington observed.

   Washington curiously watched Alexander be not the first, not the second, not the third, nope - the ninth to turn in the test. He was always first, except for that one time Thomas managed to beat him, the day Alex had stayed up late the night before working on an essay. Thomas looked dazed and confused, and only then did Washington properly take in and scrutinize the bruises on the football player's face.

   He made a connection between Thomas' and Alex' bruises, before remembering that John had been the one to accidentally cause it. With a huff, he dismissed his students early and the bell rang two minutes after they'd begun clearing the room. They hurried out, not a single goodbye or polite glance in his direction as they clambered wildly out the doors. Alexander just looked deep into Washington's eyes, as if caught in a trance, before swiftly snapping out of it and worriedly glancing at him again before turning and rushing out. That was worrying, Washington contemplated to himself. Little did George know just how worrying things would get when he made a surprising discovery later on.


	4. there for you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george discovers both his son's and his favorite student's secret in the same night.  
> (sorry this one is a bit short, the next one will be much longer!)

Washington yawned as he locked the front door behind him and greeted his wife, Martha, with an affectionate hug and a peck on the cheek. She smiled before turning and letting her upturned lips fade into a disappointed frown. "I think Gilbert has alcohol in his room again," she mouthed quietly to her husband. 

A distraught look was now written across the teacher's face. He gently moved Martha out of the way, heading to his adopted son's room and silently opening the door, pulling it as far open as he could without it creaking, as he'd practiced many times before. He then inched into the room, casting a final look at Martha's anxious expression behind him as she waited by the door.

The French boy was browsing the Internet on his phone, taking a sip or two every couple of seconds before hiding it under the sheets again. Once Gilbert had taken it out for about the third time, Washington burst in loudly, making his presence clear.

Gilbert gulped audibly, trying to once again cover the bottle, but his father had already noticed it. Washington swiftly grabbed the container of alcohol from the teenager; in his other hand, he thrust the phone from his grip and watched it clatter to the floor. Gilbert quickly reached for it and Washington bent down, snatching it away from his frantic hands.

Washington inspected the phone for a few seconds before turning it off and slipping it into his back pocket, a few scratches from the fall visible on its sensitive screen. Gilbert already looked crestfallen as he noticed the tiny cuts on his device. He gazed up at his father, speechless. His hazel eyes were drawn to his mom as she edged into the room, shock flaring in her light blue eyes at the sight of the bottle in her husband's hand. She shook her head lightly at him and he lowered his gaze.

"Dad, I-"   
"We need to talk," Washington said in a firm, gruff voice.

********************  
"Take him out of the house, maybe get him into that play you were talking to the boys and I about," Martha suggested in a hushed voice. "He's already in the play," Washington replied with a sigh. "Then why don't you take him to the after-school rehearsals for once? You only take him once or twice a month, when they have them scheduled - what, - two or three times a week?"

When her husband gave her another skeptical tilt of his head and raise of his dark, bushy brows, she added in, "It'll help get his mind off the alcohol and his future punishment. Just... get him cleaned up before you take him." Washington reluctantly nodded and his wife smiled, stretching up on tippy-toes to plant a sweet kiss on his forehead.

*******  
"I don't want to do this."  
"You're doing it."  
"I don't want to do this, Dad."  
"Well, you're doing it, son."

That was the conversation Washington and his rebellious teenage son had been having the entire car ride to his school. Eventually, Washington grew tired of his son's complaining and turned up the volume of the radio. Gilbert quickly quietened down at the sure signal that his father had no interest in discussing the issue further or changing his mind. 

The two rode in silence, listening absentmindedly to the music playing on the radio. Washington noticed Gilbert out of the corner of his eye nervously mouthing his lines, expression changing as he did so, contorting from a forced smile to a frown to clenched teeth, even adding in raised and furrowed eyebrows at pauses and cues. To say the less, it lightened Washington's mood a bit more.

Once they got to the auditorium after arriving, they realized there was no rehearsal that night. Gilbert released a long-held sigh of relief while Washington just deadpanned in frustration. Much to Gilbert's dismay, his muscular father thrust open the double doors, having incorrectly assumed they were locked, and headed inside to where the stage lights were lit up, though the stage was completely empty, as was the rest of the theatre. Or so the father-and-son duo thought.

Washington trotted up to the lighting department and noticed a blanket covering some object. He hesitantly crouched and drew back the thick coverings to reveal a sleeping boy. A familiar sleeping boy. His backpack was resting under where the lights were managed, his dark, shoulder-length hair was a mess, and he snored peacefully, something Washington hadn't thought was possible. He then realized with a pang of shock that this was his star student. Alexander Hamilton. 

"Oh, my gosh..." Gilbert's astonished murmur brought Washington back to reality. And it ended up waking the unconscious student. Alexander's eyes opened gradually, blinking away sleep before he noticed the two familiar faces staring intently at him. He flinched instantly, backing away and hitting his head on the wall. He rubbed the sore spot on his scalp, whilst still keeping his worried, dark gaze trained on the duo.

"Well, you found out my secret. I'm not as perfect as you thought, Mr. Washington."


	5. powerful emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> george offers a solution and alex gratefully accepts it.  
> alex later begins to grow accustomed to his new "family".

"Alex, I just don't understand. How long have you been living like this?" Washington's voice had a sympathetic, fatherly edge to it as it usually did when speaking with his favorite student. Alexander simply curled up in his blankets more, pulling his small knees up to his scrawny chest and giving a feeble shrug in response, gaze averting from the taller man's.

Washington now fixed him with a firm, commanding look. "Alexander. Look at me. How long have you been living like this?" The student timidly opened his mouth before shutting it, then deciding against it once again and finally giving a truthful reply. "A few months, on and off. Sometimes I sleep here, sometimes I sleep at home."

"Why don't you sleep at home? What's stopping you?" Washington pried deeper, dark brown eyes searching the young, scared boy's face for any signs of deception or dishonesty. "My mom's never around much, and...I feel stupid sleeping in her house when I'm not doing anything to help her pay for it or provide for our family of two." He frowned, though looked too exhausted to break down crying.

Washington thought it out for a moment before his mind settled on a solution for the crumbling freshman before him. "You could move in with my family." Lafayette's eyes had now widened and he shot his father a glance of shock and dismay, but Washington aggressively waved him off, gesturing for him to leave. Lafayette glared at him but begrudgingly obeyed.

Once the two were alone, Alexander appeared to be a bit more comfortable with the discussion. "Are-are you sure? Your wife- She won't mind?" Alexander murmured, sniffling every few seconds before wiping his nose in annoyance. "She won't," Washington promised, though he wasn't sure whether or not she would. He assumed she wouldn't, as she'd been so eager to adopt Lafayette when he was a troubled thirteen-year-old with an abusive father and estranged mother.

"Come here," Washington muttered softly, and Alexander's eyes began to overflow with tears. He got up with his last bits of strength, ignoring the aches in his joints and bones from sleeping in the uncomfortable positions, and quickly accepted the older man's fond hug. "Thank you," he huffed sincerely into Washington's shoulder, looking up at him with brown eyes glazed with pain and a hint of gratitude that hadn't been there before.  
"We're going home." Washington walked past Lafayette, Alexander following and tugging his long blanket along with him, shivering slightly once exposed to the cold night air. "Dad, why-"

"I don't want to hear it. If you speak a word of this to anyone, you'll never see that phone again. Do I make myself clear?" George snapped at his son, who had obviously been about to ask something along the lines of "why are we taking some random homeless kid home with us?" Lafayette just stared at the floor as he got into the passenger seat beside his father, who quickly started the car and began driving home once Alexander had gotten properly situated in the back seat, snuggled up in his thick layers of blankets, enjoying the seat warmers with a barely audible but still adorable, contented hum.

**************  
The next day, Alexander awoke in a strange place. It looked to be a teenage boy's bedroom. Oh, no. He cursed quietly and jumped onto his feet, ignoring the small jolt of pain that rushed through his unsuspecting ankles. He limped the rest of the way to the door with a theatre poster of "Be More Chill" taped to it. He opened the door cautiously, cold hand sliding silently around the cold golden knob.

The door slipped open with a creak, and Alexander cringed softly. He tiptoed out and glanced around swiftly to take in his surroundings. That was when he recognized the back of Washington's head as he cooked in the kitchen. "Sir, what time is it?" Alex inquired curiously.

"Please, call me George. You are staying at my home now, after all." The professor was cooking pancakes and scrambled eggs. Alexander remembered hearing in the beginning of year from Washington himself that his wife, Martha, had always been the cook of the family. But the food he was making smelled like heaven to Alex. It looked way better than cafeteria food, which is what he'd been living off of for the past couple of weeks, apart from the occasional half-a-sandwich his few friends would graciously give him.

George had begun spreading the food out onto antique, expensive-looking plates, placing them on the clean, marbled counter. "Breakfast is ready!" he announced, and Martha soon emerged from the master bedroom. She greeted Alex with a warm smile. "Hello there, sweetie, I'm Martha. My husband told me you're staying with us temporarily. Let me know if you need anything, I'd be happy to help, hun." And with that, she glided past a dazed freshman and kissed her husband on the cheek.

While the two were pre-occupied, Alexander hungrily took a bite of the pancake lying out so tantalizingly before him. He soon regretted it, as it burnt his tongue and gums and he cursed softly, jerking back and nearly falling off the stool he had been perched on. George and Martha both snapped their heads toward him in surprise. "Alex, you need to let it cool down, didn't you ever learn that?" George brushed past his concerned wife and towards Alex, who quickly put his arms up and flinched. "Please don't hit me, I-" 

Alex knew he'd messed up. Once George had gotten close to him, he'd been reminded of his mother and the rarer memories of his father when he was around twelve, coming in the house just to knock him around and play mind games with his mom, Rachel, flirting with her only to steal money from her wallet. He had even been brave enough to take expensive-looking (but cheap) vases and blame it on Alex, claiming the young boy had broken them and he had merely cleaned them up and thrown the broken shards out. Then he'd leave his son to face his mother's wrath. And Rachel was not kind when it came to money issues. Alexander shuddered lightly when George pressed a gentle but firm hand onto his thin shoulder, Martha watching from across the counter, her light brows furrowing in deep thought as she studied his face.

Lafayette had joined them at the table, and was glancing in confusion between his new "roommate", his mother, and his father. Then Alex realized he had tuned out Washington and with a shaky voice, asked him to please repeat the question. "Alex, have your parents been abusing you? Is that why you can't go home?"

"No, I-" "Tell me the truth," George snarled in a clipped tone, again making Alex quiver in fear. The older man released his grip on the boy's shoulder and tried to look less intimidiating; Alex noticed and greatly appreciated the gesture. "My dad used to push me around and grab me by the arm, then launch me to see how far I could go. My right wrist never really fully healed, so it hurts whenever I bend it the way that he bent it..." The boy's voice trailed off as he felt sobs coming on.

"We don't have to talk about it if it affects you too much. Before we eat, I just need to know if your father's still in your life and if he's threatening you so you can't come home to your mom. I know she loves you, Alex, and probably misses you dearly. I'm sure she'd be sympathetic if you confided in her about this, and - well - I'd help her pay for therapy sessions for you if you're in need of them. You have many people who care about you, Alex, and I'm sorry you had to suffer through that. You don't need to flinch or defend yourself in this household, okay?"

Alexander nodded before answering his professor's question. "He's not anymore. He hasn't been for years, since my mom started getting better at hiding the money he tried to steal from her whenever he visited. He hasn't showed up since I was about fourteen."

"Thank you, Alex. Now, let's eat and be careful not to burn your tongue." Martha nodded in agreement and grabbed an edible ice pack from the freezer. "If you need it, you can chew on this until the pain or burning sensation lessens," the ginger-haired woman suggested. Alex glowed with gratitude and slipped it into his aching mouth, humming quietly in satisfaction as it began to heal the sore.

He then began eating more carefully this time, and listened faintly to the playful banter exchanged between George and his wife, and then between them and their son, Lafayette, whom Alex didn't know well despite being in a play with him. He let his gaze wander over to the boy, quickly snapping it away once Lafayette seemed to notice and quirked a brow at him. Alex's ears burned in embarrassment, but thankfully the other boy didn't mention it.

He ate in silence until all four finished and Lafayette volunteered to do the dishes. Martha blinked at him with pride and he earned himself a sloppy kiss on the forehead, since he had tried - to no avail - to duck out of it and avoid her red lips. She laughed and wiped the mark from his head with the pad of her thumb, before trotting past Alex and gently patting him on the head, obviously not testing his boundaries with a kiss or more affectionate gesture after the first night of staying with them. Alex greatly appreciated it.

"You two boys go take a shower, hear me?" George called, walking up behind his son, who was tall, but not as tall as him. Alex blushed at the way the sentence sounded, and Lafayette soon noticed as well. "Together?" the boy asked while trying to keep a straight face. He ended up covering his mouth but still bursting out in a snicker. "Not like that. Get your head out of the gutter, son. Alex, you can use Martha and I's shower. Lafayette, you stay in your own," he said with a stern glare aimed at his son, who continued laughing on his way to his bathroom.

Alex's face was still hot and red as he stepped into Martha and George's shower and cleaned himself.


	6. this is home.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> alex is emotional all of a sudden and lafayette helps calm him down.

**"Alex had never known Lafayette had this sweet side to him."**

*******************

Alexander had no idea how much time he spent in that shower. All he knew was A) the water was boiling hot and it felt somewhat soothing against his burning red skin, B) the body wash he used on his body only seemed to worsen the burning sensation, and C) he was suddenly feeling weak in the knees. He also felt a head-ache coming on from his scalp, itching from the hot temperature.

  
Most of Alex's body screamed desperately for him to shut off the water or at least turn it down a little but his brain just wasn't cooperating. It was as if it had shut off all of its nerves and any sensation of pain was going to be saved for later. For now, he just felt bliss. Pure bliss. The water began to feel an icy cold despite - as he checked it with his hands - it still being fiery hot to the rest of his body. He knew that meant his skin was eventually going numb to the burning.

  
Alexander felt wet droplets slipping down his cheeks. He wiped them away with his hands before letting the hot water rinse them off instead, only bringing out more in the process. The hot water against his temples hurt so badly it made him wake up from this trance-like state. He let out a weak whimper as he turned the knobs swiftly to the right to shut off all the water.

  
Alex then stumbled out, nearly tripping, and covered himself with a towel too big for him. He wrapped his shiny hair in a smaller towel and gave his face a check in the mirror. He looked violently sunburnt, and his nail marks were visible under his eyes and on his cheeks. Alexander winced at how his entire body burned and/or itched.

  
The scrawny boy then proceeded to his room, checking to make sure no one was around to see his beet-red skin or self-inflicted scratches. He felt like some stupid dog who had bitten its own tail clean off, then had its crazy, deluded mind awake and realize what it had done.

  
Alex got dressed and then headed to the kitchen to gently rub his face with cold tap water. He yelped aloud as the water was boiling hot again before it turned to a freezing cold temperature, soothing his face, hands, and arms. He jumped as a voice sounded behind him.  
"Alex? Why are you bright red?"

  
The boy spun around to see Lafayette towering over him, perfect eyebrows knitted close together in concern and worry. As if Alex was some child who had done something wrong. Yet he felt exactly like one. He shut off the sink and turned back to his new roommate/adoptive brother.

  
"Uh, I'm...The water was really hot in the shower and it got stuck, so I just turned it all off and-"  
"And decided to come bathe yourself in the sink, with clothes on, like a little baby bird?"

  
Alexander couldn't identify the edge in Lafayette's tone. Couldn't recognize if he was being plain scornful or trying to be playful with him.  
"Alex, I'm sorry, it was just a joke. You don't need to cry." Lafayette cleared his throat awkwardly and averted his chocolate brown gaze from anywhere but the boy in front of him.

  
"I'm not-" Alex brushed the delicate pad of his thumb against his cheeks and felt them soaking wet and not from the water. "Oh." was all he could muster as he quickly shifted around and began splashing the freezing water back onto his face.

"No, no, no, it's okay, Alex. Don't itch at it. I don't want you to hurt yourself," Lafayette gently reached out for the shorter boy's wrist to pull it away from the sink, using his other hand to turn it off.

  
Alexander flinched at the familiar, agonizing contact and grabbed his hand back, fist immediately slamming the taller boy in the chin. Lafayette staggered in shock, and comfortingly brushed the well-developing facial hair there, letting out a pained grunt.

  
"Oh my God, Laf, I'm so sorry," Alexander whimpered and fell onto his knees. "I'm going to get kicked out, I'm going to get kicked out, I'm going to get kicked out," he repeated as if in a trance to himself over and over again, back against the lower wooden kitchen cabinets, hugging his knees up to his flat chest. He was calm and okay with the fact that George was going to kick him out of his house for giving his son an unwarranted punch.

  
He then stressed about whether George would manipulate his grade as a punishment, too. Or tell the cops about his mom and get CPS involved, having Alex move across the world so he wouldn't have anything to do with the Washington family. Horrible, painful possibilities swam around in his head, until he fell out of his trance once again by cold droplets splashing across his face.

  
He wiped it with his shirt and looked up at Lafayette, vision lowering as the taller boy sat by Alexander, pressing his own back against the kitchen cabinets. Instead, the French boy sat with his longer legs stretched out, his hands at either side of him. One was traveling dangerously close to Alex's waiting palm.

  
They met and Alexander immediately felt all of his fears and worries come to a stop and just drift away. He gazed up into Lafayette's warm milk-chocolate eyes, glowing softly with something resembling actual affection. He glanced curiously down at their intertwined fingers, and shared a coy smile with the other boy.

  
"You'll be okay, Alex. When you're ready, I'll take you back to our room, alright? I can sit here with you until you are, though, I don't mind." Lafayette rested his head against the cabinet now, his ponytail, with multiple kinks and curly hairs springing free, reached all the way up to the kitchen counter. Alexander made a mental note of this before climbing onto his feet and extending a helpful hand to Lafayette, who politely waved him off and regained his own footing agilely.

  
When Alexander nearly tripped over the carpet, Lafayette asked, "Is it okay if I pick you up?" and Alex replied elegantly with, "Huh?" and then Lafayette was carrying the smaller boy bridal style to their room. He closed the door half-way behind him, ensuring Alex's head didn't hit either sides of the doorway before setting him down on his bed.

  
Lafayette crossed the room to his own and Alexander reached out a hand for him before relinquishing it and returning it to its rightful position at his side. His hand felt like it had been shocked where Lafayette touched it.

  
"Let me know if you have trouble sleeping tonight, okay? Don't go burning yourself in the shower again," the French boy joked, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly in amusement before he shut off his blue-red-and-white lamp and gradually drifted asleep.

  
For some reason, Alex had never known Lafayette had this sweet side to him. He watched this peaceful giant sleeping for a little while before he fell asleep to the calming sound of Lafayette's gentle, rhythmic snoring.


End file.
